Conte's Secret
by Tessadragon
Summary: Serrina Sneak, illegitimate daughter of the recently murdered new king of thieves, seeks a girl of extraordinary heritage: Roger's daughter, born after his death. chapter 15 is up finally! the end draws near.
1. The Thieves Inn

Chapter 1

The child was spindly thin, filthy with mud and wrapped in a too-large cloak. She barely stood on her two feet, limbs quivering like a caught rabbit. Her large eyes were pure amber and she carried a note in her hands that she handed to the innkeeper's wife before taking a large old bag of a brown material, from within her voluminous cloak and from that bag, extracted a handful of coins and a key. She put the key back in the bag and placed the coins solemnly into the innkeeper wife's hand.

The innkeeper's wife towered over the child, her big hands accepted the coins and she ushered the child into the darkness of the inn, the door slammed shut and immediately it were as though she was in a different world.

It's like the old world, the little girl thought straight-forwardly, shrugging the large cloak off. The innkeeper's wife, actually a widow though she often lied that he was in the barn, went to stoke the fire and then to grab a large jug from the kitchen, a round wooden board piled with wedges of cheese and pieces of bread. She carried a knife in her spare hand like a thief should.

"Mistress Brower," another thief drawled, lounging in the chair by the stoked fire, "so my little sneak's come back?"

"Yes sire," the widowed innkeeper's wife said, placing the food and drink on the table. The man savagely speared a hunk of cheese and nipped it. "Then come forward, Sneak. Tell me. Is it real?"

"Real as me, sir," Sneak replied, standing taller in a brown leather jerkin, plain brown skirt and stout boots. Her hair was cropped short. "Ten years of hiding, sir."

"Ten years!" the thief mused this, trying to calculate it.

"Must have been born half a year after Roger's fall," Sneak said for him.

"And it's mother's not of our guild," the thief mused. "How sad. How much easier it'd have been."

"It is a she," Sneak informed him. "She is ten years old. She has her father's eyes and her father's magic. She will—"

"Be very useful," the thief finished, jerking his hand: Sneak shut up rapidly.

"Get some rest," the thief said after a moment. "You'll be riding harder tomorrow. You'll be delivering a message to my smiling friend."

Sneak's eyes narrowed. "He has not been one of us, sire, not since the Fall. Not since the coronation. Not since he took the Lady's hand—"

"He still likes our game," the thief interrupted. "And I still enjoy my predecessor's intelligence. It's a damn good difference from the simpletons surrounding me right now!" With that, he stood up, took the tray of cheeses, tossed a piece of cheese to Sneak who caught it gratefully, gnawing it quickly, and he left the room.


	2. Night Ride

Knight Queen: Thanks for being the first reviewer on this fan fiction :-)

Conte's Secret

Chapter 2

She'd not expected this!

Her hand flew to her dagger as she uncurled from her sleeping place by the fire. The watchtower man was halfway through crying that it was the twelfth hour of night, that all was well, and the inn door had just exploded in, showering her with splinters of heavy old wood.

"Attack!" she called over and over again. "Attack! Attack!"

As the men poured in, and she froze at how their eyes gleamed red in the firelight. Her voice died in her throat, a grimness settling in her eyes and she slid to fighting stance, a dagger in each hand, light old sword in her weapon belt for if she be disarmed.

Spreading her hands, hearing nothing from up the stairs, not a sign of the King of Thieves stirring, she tried to block their way. "Demons," she said severely. "I shan't let you any closer to my liege."

"Lasha," one of them replied, smiling at her like a friend. "Let us pass."

"Serrina," she shot back. "Lasha is my sister. I am Serrina."

"So it is Lasha we killed," another of them said, still smiling in a friendly way. "We'd thought it was you."

Her mouth was a thin line, her amber eyes angry. "Where? When?"

"Their words are bile," her liege called from the top of the stairs. She stood up straighter, "yes sire."

"In her bed," one of the men said. "Your name was the last word on her little tongue. I'm afraid we left it untidy for her maids to clean up."

Another of the men chortled.

"She might still be alive," another of the men offered, a wicked glint in his eye. "We did spear her a few times...but you two are feisty little creatures, sly as nymphs. She could have worn her prettiest armour, suspecting us."

Her eyes flicked up towards her liege. Even he looked uncertain.

"She could be clinging to life, awaiting her brave little sister," the first man goaded. Another man stepped aside from the shattered inn doorway. A clear invitation. Her nerves clamoured and pleaded for her to take the chance, while her mind said it was a lie.

"Go, Sneak," her liege said quietly.

She didn't hesitate. Holding her daggers close and tensely in her small hands, she ran between the men.

With a quick movement, one of the men grabbed her by the hair: he was strong, holding her up like a feisty kitten. Her eyes snapped open far wider than she'd thought possible as something plunged through her chest. Already she dug her dagger into his eye.

He didn't move. Just tidily withdrew his broadsword and dropped her to the ground like he'd planned it all along, even as blood ran from his eye with tears.

First she crawled, watching with horror the blood seeping from her wound. The broadsword's blade had left a path of white hot fire through her chest and she felt blood whistling in her lung with every ragged breath she took.

Forcing herself up to her feet, she staggered to the stable, took her horse from its stall and mounted him bareback. "Hurry," she told him urgently. Her mare, a child of the wind, raised by fierce Bazhir, sensed her urgency, rolled her eyes at the thick scent of blood from her rider, and fled the stable, her rider clinging with one hand as she tore material from the hem of her shirt, to stuff against her grievous wound.

Lasha, she pleaded silently. Gods, don't let my sister Lasha die. She is all I have left!

She did not think she would have needed a prayer for the people she'd just left behind.


	3. Lasha and Serrina

Conte's Secret

Chapter 3

"Lasha!" Serrina slid off her mare's back to the hay-strewn ground, her dagger in her hand though she knew the battle was over even before she took the secret passage behind a stack of hay, to get into the cold kitchen where the fireplace was black with soot and a dead maid was sprawled across the ground.

Tears filling her eyes, she turned the maid over, straightened up and went up the stairs. Already defeat had taken her prisoner: the house was hollowly resounding her footsteps and it felt like a dead house, visited by the plague.

"Lasha," she called more forlornly.

"Too late milady," an older servant said, backing out of Lady Lasha's room. "She died not ten minutes ago. I'm sorry, milady."

Without another word, Serrina went into her twin's room. It was the room of a high lady: Lasha had regularly scoffed at Serrina's habit of thievery, teased her mercilessly and threatened to throw her to the provost's men. But they'd loved one another still: protected each other.

Lasha's lips were very firmly sealed: Serrina knew Lasha hadn't spoken a word to the enemy. In fact, she'd probably not known what the enemy was after.

She kissed her sister's closed cold eyelids, touched her hand and left the room.

"Milady," Lasha's main servant said sternly, brandishing bandages. "You're injured."

Serrina nodded.

"Then come along," the servant ordered. "I shan't have your sister's—" a tear leaked from both their eyes "—bless her soul, shan't have her carpets smeared with your blood."

As Serrina sat at the kitchen table and peeled off her shirt, the servant, Dora, informed her straight-forwardly of what had happened. Two hours ago, men had come. They'd killed the maid, pushed Dora out of the way and barricaded themselves in poor Lasha's room. Then they'd proceeded to try and get information from poor, angry Lasha. Dora didn't say that she'd heard Lasha scream many times. Serrina just knew.

"What now, milady?" Dora asked, subdued now, as she sponged Serrina's wound.

"I'll get a healer as soon as I've checked on my liege," Serrina said. Her eyes were darker with grief and shock.

"And I'll inform the provost?" Dora said. Her voice shook.

"And then you escape," Serrina said. "Go to your sister's and keep very quiet about this. I need to find who these men are. Whether they like to keep all witnesses quiet."

"Good luck, milady," Dora said, subdued, as Serrina Sneak got up and tiredly went to the door, her side freshly bandaged, she pulled her torn, bloodied shirt on, went to her mare. Moments later, the child of the wind's hooves clattered across the courtyard and Serrina streamed out into the night again.


	4. Thieving Orphan

Knightqueen: hope you enjoy this!

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Conte's Secret 

Chapter 4

A week later, she rode through Tortall. Bitter fury marked her face, and two stripes of blood down her cheeks: she grieved for more people.

Her mare slowly walked the streets until Serrina dismounted and walked her tiredly through the streets. Pickpockets danced around her but she had nothing of value to steal, so soon she walked alone again, her eyes dreamy with nightmares.

She made her way towards the distant palace, her heart pining for the inn she'd called home, pining for the man who'd been like a father to her: the king of thieves who was now dead.

Following a guard's directions, she dismounted from her mare and led the mare to the stables. "There you go, Amara," she said softly as the horse's sweated sides heaved with exhaustion. "You've done such a splendid job, you've outdone yourself and I am so grateful!"

"You'll be wantin' a stall?" the stable groom called, backing out of another stall where a young stallion stamped hooves nervously at the scent of Serrina's mare.

"Yes," she called gratefully, keeping a wary eye on everything.

"I heard Baron Cooper was visiting here," she told the stable groom as he forked some hay into an empty stall, and she led her mare inside.

"Aye," the stable groom replied. "But why d'you need to know?"

She scooped a bucket through the water trough, took it back to her mare and rummaged through her only bag, took a brush from it and began sweeping it through her mare's dusty coat. "I've ridden five nights trying to find him," she said flatly. "I have a message for him from a dead man."

"Ah," the stable groom said.

She turned to face him. "You're Stefan, aren't you? My liege told me about you. One of George Cooper's...Baron Cooper's closest friends and finest men to have served him."

Stefan ducked his head. "Mebbe, mebbe not," he muttered.

"Can you tell me where he is?" Serrina insisted. "It's vital that I see him."

"With Sir Myles," Stefan said abruptly. "Make sure to knock first. Otherwise they'll both have you hung for eavesdropping on a highly secret meeting."

She nodded, finished running the comb along her mare's coat, stood back, gave it a critical eye, then swung her satchel back on her shoulder, set off.


	5. Call of the Black God

White Phoenix: Thank you for the kind comment, and thank you for the advice: i'll try and make the chapters longer.

Bambolieblue: Thank you :-) i'm glad you like the plot enough to call it 'original'.

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Chapter 5

Pages struck staffs in the field behind her as she strode across to the courtyards. Horses stamped, a rider commander called orders to trainees. The hot sun shone down on her, infused her black hair with a glow as she brought her hood down from her face, the hem of her cloak sweeping the way behind her.

Sir Myles' study was handsome and well furnished: she heard the murmur of voices even before colliding with the two guards posted outside the door: she even recognised these two guards. She gave them a grin. "Let me by, boys."

One of them raised an eyebrow. "Hmm?"

So he didn't recognise her.

She shed her cloak, her uniform fresh and stark: black shirt and trousers with a red sash around her belly that hid the bandages around her grievous belly wound.

His eyes widened. "Lady Serrina!"

"Sneak," the other said warmly. "How've you been?"

"Busy," she said curtly, stepping forward again. "Now I must speak to Baron Cooper. If you _please_."

Uncomfortably, suddenly awkward, one of them shuffled his feet. The other scratched the back of his neck with his coarse hand. "Ah, no. Milady."

She frowned, suddenly angry. "What makes you think you can refuse?"

"The king's command."

She'd not heard the door open. She twitched her head around and pivoted to face Baron Cooper. "Hmph. So there you are, sir."

"Lady Serrina," he said in a lukewarm way, "to what do I owe the pleasure?"

"The murder of the king of thieves," Sneak replied coldly. "That is why I have ridden all week all over the country, to find you."

George's eyes widened. "Dead!" he breathed. "That old wolf of a devil! I'll be damned!"

"I need to tell you for what he was killed," Serrina continued ruthlessly. "Why we were attacked and slaughtered: my sister, the king and our hostess. His last order to me was to give this information to you, to speak it to you and to order you to do whatever you deem necessary with the information, now that he can no longer manipulate it!"

"Then tell," George said brusquely, ushering her into the study again, closing the door. "Tell us."

"You, sir," Serrina said, "but not him." She pointed at Sir Myles. "I do not acknowledge him as part of what I pay homage to."

"He is my father in law," George said sternly as Sir Myles regarded them quizzically. "Lady Serrina, you are not petty. Do not start now!"

"I have been petty ever since last week," Serrina said quietly. "A word that I said to my twin ended in her death. I shall not utter that which may end in your father in law's death. I only respect the credence of a good knight and a good thief. I am petty."

"I assure you, I'm not likely to get involved directly in any fighting," Sir Myles gave her a kindly smile. "And I do get plenty of warning about hundreds of things. I'm sure someone will say if they plan to kill me."

She tossed her head arrogantly, turned to George and spoke directly to him.

"I am to inform you, Baron Cooper of Pirates Swoop, that there is an heir to Conte. That a girl was born eight months after the fall of Duke Roger, borne by a common woman faintly known as his mistress. That this girl has Gift of some sort, and that Roger's former supporters gather and surround her, like wolves surrounding a lamb!"

"An heir!" George spoke harshly, hazel eyes wide. "Impossible!"

"Not impossible," Serrina corrected. "She was kept a secret by her mother and her uncle. Her uncle died last month and his manservant admitted to a thief that there's a child hiding within the Conte buildings."

She paused for breath, exhausted suddenly. Then continued.

"Her mother is practically insane, has been ever since Duke Roger's death. The child roams Conte's buildings like a wild child." She swept her arm down to rest against her belly surreptitiously, stood up straight.

George whistled hard between his teeth. "Damn it, Alanna's going to kill me for not learning this sooner!" He rounded on her. "Is this why the man was trying to talk to me? Could I have learned this sooner if I'd trusted that he wasn't just trying to get into favour with me?"

"He did try to contact you to offer you the information," Serrina admitted, her voice catching: she was paling. "But only at a price. A high price. He'd have made you pay through the nose for something like this: gifts never came from him for free."

"Too right," George agreed bitterly, grabbed his cloak. "Take me to where she is, Sneak. Sorry, I mean Serrina."

Serrina's voice came out strange. "I'm sorry sir, but I'll have to wait a bit."

"That's an order," George said sharply, turned to look at her, then lunged forward, catching her as she collapsed.

The bandage wrapped around her chest was several inches thicker. It was wet and dark now, smeared across George's hand as he carried her from the room, calling for healers to hurry.

She was dying. So much blood: why did she ignore her body? How much it ached?

_A grieving daughter cannot be trusted to know their own wounds_, she thought bitterly as darkness wrapped around her mind.

From that darkness billowed the cloak of the Black God: the being was magnificent in calm cruelty: she feared him.

Beside him stood Lasha. She held the Black God's hand like a child might hold their father's hand. Tearing her hand free, she ran to Serrina, knelt and cradled her head in her hands, cold tears of the dead sliding down her marble cheeks. "Serrina Sneak! It is not your time!"

Serrina parted her lips to speak, but no sound came to her: weakness swept harder over her body, maybe because of the pain of seeing her dead twin.

"You must hang on!" Lasha snapped at her. "We cannot have you here! Not you, me and father! Not all of us!"

Serrina raised her eyes slowly to her sister then shook her head limply.

"Father and I shall watch over you," Lasha promised in her soft voice with a hint of command. "The challenges you face alone are immense, sister. Your first challenge is to protect Kyra."

"Kyra..." Serrina's lips moved, her voice barely came out. "Conte..."

"Yes," Lasha said. "Kyra of Conte. You must protect her. She is in danger from many. She is a child: she does not know the cruelty she's facing: you must face that cruelty with her, for you know cruelty."

Bleakly, Serrina finally looked away from her sister, lay back as lightning lanced through her and tore her away from her twin again.

She opened her eyes and stared with pain at the woman who had saved her life: violet eyes and copper hair with a thread of grey. Alanna of course.

And she did not look amused.


	6. True Nature

Cloud 9: here's the next bit, no worries, i'll try not to leave too long a time-gap between posting new chapters :-)

Jessi: I'm glad you think it's an original story, and that you're enjoying it. and i can't puzzle out the reason for few reviews. i'll just be glad that some people are reading and enjoying the story, though I always do appreciate the reviews of course! lol

Erialis: yeah, i agree, looking back. I didn't like the line "Alanna of course". It's just that Serrina kinda has a bit of loathing for the lovely Alanna, and I must obey Serrina on the narration of this story, lol!

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Kyra of Conte: Chapter 6 

Broth made her want to rush to the window and vomit. If she was forced to drink or eat the half-liquid stuff any more, she would throw herself from the window.

"My dear, you can drink or eat it, or we can lock you in the kennels with the dogs," the healer, a tallswarthy man in black robes and a white shirt, his head smooth with age,said with good humour. "We can even forcefeed you if you like. Either way, that broth is going down your throat. It's good for you."

"The dogs get better food," Serrina grumbled, wriggling away from the clay bowl in revulsion. Her stomach twinged not just with nausea but with pain. The wound had been four inches deep and they'd found exactlytwo maggots in it. Alanna had gone into a roaring fit at her because of those maggots and George had calmed her down, as well as telling her that Serrina's family were all the same: they'd happily die than accept 'pampering'.

"Why do you hate Alanna so much?" the healer asked abruptly, as he began unwinding the thick fresh bandage from around Serrina's scarred stomach.

"I do not hate her," Serrina said stiffly. "She and I have...philosophical differences."

"What you're skipping around," Alanna said wryly from the doorway, "is that you're the illegitimate child of the king of thieves. Not my husband of course. The one who's just died. The daughter of his mistress, because his real wife couldn't give birth. And you're a thief and a murderer. That you once tried to assassinate my husband!"

"I didn't try to assassinate George," Serrina muttered sullenly. "I just tried to assassinate the ex-king, because it's the duty I have. The hierarchy works by the old king getting killed and replaced by the new king. Not the old king skipping off to become a noble and marry the King's Champion!"

"And so you tried to kill my husband!" Alanna retorted. "You're lucky I didn't throw you out of the turret window, that I only threw you out of the kitchen window!"

"I know," Serrina said coolly. "And I said I'd not try it again. I'd rather chew rocks. My father negotiated it with George and I said I'd leave George alone, didn't I?"

"And now you're telling me that Roger has a daughter," Alanna said wryly. "Please tell me you're lying!"

Serrina frowned, looking at her: she didn't like how Alanna looked whenever this topic of Roger's daughter arose. She could tell that Alanna was deeply concerned, even angry about this. _Whatdoes she think she knew about the child?_ Serrina wondered, troubled.

Finally, she beckoned Alanna forward.

Warily, Alanna came forward. Serrina sat up sorely and grasped her hand. Like a fountain bubbling up, she called up her magic, and thrust her memories forward, of the girl she'd seen at Conte.

_I did reconnaissance_, she explained silently. _I've seen her._

_Kyra is the girl with hair like fire and shadows: gold, copper and darkness. Her eyes are like the tender shoots of young plants. Small and slight, she watches you like you're the only thing in the world, her lips in a slight frown, as though puzzling something out about you._

_She has no Gift._

_She is defenceless, as far as I can see, but her tongue is sharp as swords. And she has very sharp fingernails._

"She scratched you?" Alanna interrupted wickedly, delighted.

Unwillingly, Serrina showed Alanna the long set of scratches down her arm.

"You're sure she has no Gift?" Alanna asked sharply, examining the scratches.

"I have thief magic," Serrina said calmly. "Not real Gift. I can see lies, and I can fight well. That is all. That is what makes me a very good thief and murderer. That and the fact that I make good use of my skills. And I'm a good...communicator. Though I need to touch skin to speak with that person."

Alanna snorted, "I still don't approve of it. I can't believe your mother lets you do all this. Larking in the streets!"

"Neither can I," Serrina said wickedly and eased herself to sit up straighter, breathing a deeper sigh. "Urgh," she winced.

"Don't even think of it," Alanna warned.

"You're going after Kyra," Serrina retorted. "I'm coming along, because I've befriended Kyra already."

"So she scratches her playmates and friends?" Alanna raised an eyebrow and drew a fingertip down the set of scratches down Serena's shoulder.

"Yeah," Serrina said. "She comes up with some very good games. It's like playing in the street: Ilove it."

"Jon will want her to come back here," Alanna said calmly. "She is the daughter of his cousin. And the daughter of the cousin who tried to overthrow him."

Serrina lowered her eyes, sad. "She isn't going to like it."

"How old is she?" Alanna wanted to know, finally.

"Nine summers," Serrina replied. Then she smiled, in the sneaky way that had earned her the name: Serrina Sneak. "You won't get anywhere near her, without me."

"I think I could," Alanna said calmly. "I've got children of my own, Serrina. I do know how to talk to children."

"There are rumours," Serrina said idly. "That in Tusaine, you developed a phobia of dealing with children. Especially babies in diapers. That's why you asked your old nursemaid, Maude, to help you look after your little ones, ain't it?"

Alanna gasped, annoyed. "Absolutely not!"

"Just teasing," Serrina said wickedly. "Nah, I talked to your girl. Lovely little Aly. She was able to teach _me_ a few dagger tricks, when I'd thought I knew it all! I gave her a bit of gossip, and she gave me a bit back. Years back. She told me quite a bit."

Alanna pursed her lips. "Aly is too headstrong."

"Just like you were at her age, according to Maude," Serrina said calmly.

"Do you make a point of knowing my family?" Alanna asked archly.

"I make a point of knowing everyone," Serrina said graciously. "Point is, you need Kyra to come along quietly with you. Without me, she'll go fleeing off goddess knows where. You'll never see her again: she's as wild as a bird. And she knows that most of Tortall hates her."


	7. Phoenix Rising From Conte's Ashes

cloud9: enjoy the next chapter :-)

Yazmari: glad you're still enjoying the story :-)

Duck8: glad you're enjoying the story, i'd better put a disclaimer on this story, lol

Skywolf: yep, suspense is an excellent torture method

Jessi: glad you like the healer. i figured Baird had retired from being court healer by now, so went out on a limb on what the new guy might be like.

Bambolieblue: Kyra appears today, lol

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Disclaimer: the characters mostly aren't mine, except for Serrina, Lasha andKyra. all the rest are owned by the lovely Tamora Pierce. Long live Tamora!

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Kyra of Conte: Chapter 7

A faint, jaunty song was hummed fromSerrina's lips as she gathered her grip again on Amara's reins, giving the mare more rein as the steep road rose before them, topped by a sunset as vibrant as a meadow of roses and daffodils.

"A beggar joined the soldiers," someone sang softly as Serrina hummed, "and he tried to shoot a bow, he flung it down and cursed the Crown, then went back on the road..."

Serrina shut up humming, cross.

"You know the tune, but not the words," Alanna said frankly, bringing her handsome gelding up alongside Serrina's sweet mare. "Did your father decide he didn't want his children knowing bawdy, rude songs?"

"Lasha threatened to disown me if I tried learning the words," Serrina replied: she even forced a smile.

"I'm sorry about your twin," Alanna said genuinely.

Serrina nodded. "So am I."

With that, she forced her head up, concentrated on Conte's silence. A silent land with few inhabitants. People had drifted away from here, unnerved by something.

_What could have unnerved them?_ Serrina wondered: she listened and could hear nothing but a 'hush, hush' whispering through scarecrow trees dressed in ragged husks of autumn leaves. She raised her eyes, saw the rosy autumn sunset hazed by an odd mist. She sniffed then sneezed as a sour, smoky smell wafted to her nose. Amara danced as Serrina jerked back on the reins, startled.

"What!" Alanna yelled, annoyed.

Serrina kicked Amara's sides, urged the mare onwards, up the road.

Nearer, themist became greyer: real smoke. Fire!

She urged Amara on faster.

Wide-eyed, snorting widely, Amara gingerly obeyed.

She could hear the crackling of a building...

The road dipped abruptly...she was virtually blind...she couldn't even slow down!

"Yah!" Serrina threw herself low in the saddle, frantically shucked Amara's reins as a low fence rose into view.

Startled, Amarasoared overthe fence. Serrina gasped, frantically adjusting her grip on the reins, as Amaracontinued galloping on scrambling hooves.

Flames are an indescribable sound: a roar devoid of notes, a blanket of noise. The sunset was put to shame by the twisting, rising flames. The flames topped the tower where Kyra dwelled.

A lone, ragged banner hung, mauled by flames and battered by the wind.

"Kyra!" Serrina was shouting as Amara galloped harder across hard, stony soil.

"Kyra!" Serrina yelled, as Amara drew to a halt: Serrina swung herself to the ground and took off towards the house.

A white handkerchief drifted amongst a cloud of ash, thrown from a window. Serrina watched it, memorised which window it was, then plunged deeper into the black smoke, kicked a door open: it crashed down and she was in: she tore a strip of material from her new shirt.

"Kyra!" Serrina yowled, storming up the stairs, clamping the rag to her nose.

A door clattered, loud even amongst the roar of the flames.

Serrina ran faster up the stone stairs: hangings and carpets were nothing but flame.

A roar of fire.

"Kyra!"

Fire fled down the stairs, away from a small, blackened figure.

"Hello, Kyra," Serrina said, went up, grabbed Kyra's hand.

Kyra obediently followed Serrina downstairs, through the burning wreckage.

"Hello, Serrina," Kyra said as they emerged out into the dramatically colder air. They both gulped that cold air hungrily: Serrina flung down the rag she'd been breathing through, raised her head and swallowed another lungful of the icy air, shutting her eyes blissfully.

"Clever," Alanna guided her angry gelding on foot. "How clever of you, Serrina, to go into a building that could collapse. Are you forgetting the lovely experience of me digging maggots out of your belly?"

"Sir Lady Alanna," Serrina ignored how mad Alanna was. "May I introduce you to Lady Kyra Samara of Conte."

Kyra lifted her green eyes to Alanna's: "Good morning, I'm sorry my home can't entertain you." She flicked apologetic eyes to the burning wreck of her home.

"How did it happen?" Alanna demanded, outraged.

"I suppose it was Mother," Kyra said absently. "She did seem very bad this month."

Serrina gave Alanna a furtive look, silently begging Alanna not to ask anything about Kyra's mother: there just wasn't any point.

"We'd better pitch camp somewhere," someone said finally, as the rest of their party came into view: panting soldiers, forced to lead their horses through gates and down more roads.

Kyra guided them to a neighbouring meadow: she didn't say anything about her home, she didn't ask why Alanna and the soldiers had come. She just sat cross-legged at the rim of the small forest of scarecrow trees, and watched her home burn.


	8. The Hard Truth for Kyra

I just felt like posting the new chapter up today. I've tried to make it longer.

Disclaimer: Tortall and most of its characters areTamora Pierce's invention.

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Chapter 8

"Good morning, Serrina," Kyra greeted her, sitting on the lake shoreas the noble thief strolled to the pitiful blacklake, towered over by the scarecrow trees. Its surface was swimming with dead, soft leaves. "Isn't the weather nice?"

"Can't see it through that canopy of branches," Serrina replied, raising an eyebrow and regarding Kyra thoughtfully. "But I am a city girl, born and bred. I suppose it must be different for you, being a country girl through and through."

"Not really," Kyra swung her feet through the freezing black water, goosebumps rushing over her pink skin. "I'd been thinking about going to the city. It's just a bit sooner than I'd thought it would be. I'm not going to have to visit my father's tomb, am I?"

Serrina shrugged awkwardly. "He's only a dead skeleton."

"Aren't all skeletons dead?"

Serrina shook her head. "No. They're not. But he is dead, Kyra."

"We'll see," Kyra said thoughtfully and dipped her hand into the water, trying to decide whether or not she was brave enough to swim today.

Serrina cautiously sat on the edge, debating the same idea. Gingerly, she dipped a toe in, then screwed her face up in pain. "Ouch!"

Kyra giggled, then arched her arms over her head and dove into the water.

Serrina scowled. "Show off!" she shouted. Kyra laughed and inhaled a mouthful of water, resurfaced, grimacing and choking. "Urgh! This water tastes of fish."

"Heh heh heh." Smirking, Serrina gracefully shed her clothes down to her loincloth and breastband and prepared to dive in...

"Absolutely not!" Alanna yelled, striding from camp. "I'm not having fish bite at your belly! It's still healing, silly girl!"

Serrina made a face and hurriedly grabbed her clothes back, pulling her shirt and breeches back on.

Kyra was laughing hard enough to get a stomach full of lake water: Alanna eyed her uncertainly.

"Come on, Kyra," Serrina said calmly, looking at the laughing girl. "We may as well sort out some breakfast."

"I have something else to do first," Kyra said, swimming to the shore of the lake. "I'll be back in a moment."

Alanna made a 'hmm' sound, looking at Serrina.

"I'll go too, then," Serrina gave a shrug.

"And I'll come, to make sure you don't ask someone to jab you in the belly, just to check if it's healing or not, or anything silly like that," Alanna said briskly.

Kyra grabbed her dress: she was too young to bother with breastbands, hadn't been told anything about breastbands or monthlies: her mother had never really said anything useful since Kyra was born.That was why she was the 'wild child of Conte', she figured. But there were other reasons.

Straightening her shirt,Kyra strode barefoot to her own nimble mare, that she called "Quickgold", moments later, she was guiding Quickgold back towards the silent, blackened form of Conte's towers.

Serrina caught up easily on Amara. "What do you think happened to your mother?" she asked quietly.

"She's dead," Kyra said with certainty, and not much of any other emotion.

Alanna's eyes narrowed at the cold, practical sound of Kyra's young voice.

"Kyra..." Serrina murmured, barely moving her lips. "You know how we discussed this...you not sounding like a possessed, evil girl...?"

Kyra turned her head to Alanna, who was catching up, having taken the trouble to saddle her gelding. "So mother's with father now," she said with the same practicality. "And mother won't be sad any more. And neither will father."

Alanna looked away and raised an eyebrow at a bush.

"Here." Some feet from the tower, Kyra dismounted and told Quickgold to stay. The mare lowered her head, nipped Kyra's bright hair then turned her attention to the smoky grass. Kyra went to the tower door and pushed it open. "We never lock it," she explained. "No one would dare come up."

Serrina could easily believe that: who'd come up to admire or steal from the tower owned by the insane, thin tall woman with white hair, or the wild, wicked child of Duke Roger? With a thin smile, she followed Kyra up the tower steps, through the doorway and into the smoke-caked entrance hall.

With barely a glance at her ruined home, Kyra strode up the winding set of stairs towards her own room, to salvage her own belongings.

Serrina toiled to observe the destruction of the fire: every wall was blackened, like evil, reflectionless obsidian. Rugs and carpets, all of which had anyway been threadbare, were gone, reduced to absolutely nothing. A tall iron-metal table had cracked in the heat, and leaned precariously towards Serrina as she strolled past. A candelabra had been left on this table and was reduced to globs of twisted burnished gold and strange stumps of grey, ash-flecked candles.

High on the wall was a portrait of Duke Roger: he smiled handsomely and crookedly, his canvas cracked and yellowed and the frame black as ebony.

With a shudder, Serrina hurried up the stairs after Kyra, found her digging through the ruined wreck of her room.

"Why not just buy clothes and things anew?" Serrina asked, eyeing the dismal room. "This stuff isn't good enough for a cat to sleep on."

"My family has no money," Kyra replied fiercely. "I can't afford it. And don't say you'll lend me the money. And don't say you owe me a birthday present. And don't say you never got me anything for midsummer's eve... I'm not interested."

Serrina looked away, hesitated, then went to another corner of the room, began gently kicking and toeing away pieces of rubble and hardened ash, seeing if there was anything worth saving.

Standing on tiptoes, Kyra reached up and ran her hands along the top of the wardrobe until she could grip the corners of a box. Dragging it down, she gasped at the explosion of ash from it, and coughed violently, dropping the box heavily.

"What's in there?" Keenly, Serrina turned.

"My winter clothes, apparently," Kyra said, unlocking the box. "But if I remember right..."

All the clothes in there were untouched by the fire. But they were all ripped and untidy.

"It was a crazy season," Kyra finished, drawing out a pretty violet dress with a red sash at the waist, tears in her eyes.

"Your mother?" Serrina guessed sadly.

Kyra nodded. "She went down to the village during the night. I had to follow her. I had to. She tried attacking two people...I stopped her, screamed at her, and she turned on me. Started clawing me. Ripped my clothes. I ripped a bit of cloth off to gag her once the two people dragged her off me. And I tied her up and brought her back. She was good the next day."

Another tear slid down her cheek. "I guess there'll be no need for me to watch her any more."

"You shouldn't feel bad for feeling good that the fire's got rid of her," Serrina said gently. "I suppose it's just as the gods willed it: for you to be free to leave this place."

Kyra tried to sit down on the edge of her bed. It groaned, then crackled flimsily. She landed on the floor, and tears began rolling down her cheeks quicker. She raised her arms over her face to hide her tears hopelessly. Serrina pushed her arms away and hugged the small girl, "shh," she murmured. "Shh. It'll be fine. I promise, Kyra."

"That's what he says," Kyra whispered between increasing sobs. When Serrina asked who 'he' was, Kyra just cried harder, her words lost.

_Who?_ Serrina wondered, perplexed, stroking Kyra's copper-gold-dark hair as the girl wept grief for her lost parents.


	9. Ending the Ride

I forgot to do the review acknowledgments last chapter: many apologies!

Chapter 7

Yazmari: how could you be so cruel to threaten me with vogon poetry? grin i promise i'll get the chapters out quicker, to keep my life

Estranged: thanks, i'm glad you think the plot's okay and that's it well written. i won't say that i was too impressed with my writing for the last few chapters. but i'll try and bring it back up to scratch.

on top of cloud 9: i do have a problem, don't i? always making the chapters too short, lol.

Chapter 8

Yazmari: i have abolsutely no problem with people slipping requests for the reading of their own stories, into the reviews they give.

Zerrin of the wind: Ooh, I'm not telling who 'he' is! hee hee

On top of cloud 9: glad u enjoyed it :-D

Pineapples: (interesting name, btw) lol, i'm glad you find this a page turner...well, it is a web page, so i suppose theoretically, web pages can still be page turners... :-D)

* * *

Chapter 9

"The leaves," Kyra spoke up suddenly as the horses trudged down a solid mud path. "It's the leaves."

"The leaves are making you feel like it's the end?" Serrina asked sardonically, not impressed. "Sorry, but seeing blood and guts coming out of my own body makes me think when it's the end."

Alanna nodded agreement to that, a quick smile curving at her lips.

"But the leaves are dying," Kyra explained.

"Because it's nearly winter," Serrina said patiently.

"But the leaves dying...it's so..." Kyra burst out laughing, annoyed with herself. "It's like the world's going dead!" she blurted. "Every time the leaves fall..." she was unable to finish her sentence, as her mare almost impaled her on an overhanging branch. Hastily she knocked the branch aside with her hand. Riding Amara behind her, Serrina yelped, as the branch swung at her now and ducked. Alanna laughed again, amused. "Slow wits, thief," she taunted wickedly, as her own gelding skirted around the branch easily.

Serrina grinned back, cheerful.

Kyra smiled, her eyes thoughtful. As a leaf drifted lazily from one of the trees that towered over them, she caught the leaf in her gloved hand, mourning how crisp it was with its imminent death and savouring the beautiful colours it had been gifted with to ease its passing: sunny orange and a rusty red.

"Someone once told me," Alanna told Kyra kindly, "that when the plants die, they return to the goddess. And then they become new."

"Who?" Kyra was smiling at that, relieved.

"Daine," Alanna said, good humouredly. "Veralidaine Sarrasri—"

"The Wild Mage!" Kyra's face lit up with excitement. "Oh! You know her, don't you! What's she like? Is she really always covered with animals!"

"And their excrement," Alanna said gravely, smiling. "Yes."

Kyra giggled. "What else is there in the Tortallan Capital? What will it be like? What are the people like?"

"Didn't anyone ever tell you anything?" Serrina turned, demanding to know. "Anything about the Tortallan capital?"

"My mother was insane," Kyra said mildly. "I decided not to believe her when she ranted of flying tapestries, falling doors and moving windows, nor of suits of armour walking through the corridors."

Serrina laughed, shaken by that. "No. Very true. Well, then...Tortall. How to describe it? The streets are alive, Kyra." She loosened her grip on her reins, trusting her mare, Amara, as she tried to think of what to say. "From the rooftops, you can see all the people... ...pickpockets sliding their hands into the nobles' pockets, thieves smiling at you, greeting you before going to their jobs. Games of dirt in the gutter with the other street children until you go home filthy..." her voice was dreamy.

"...Buying dumplings at the street vendors," she said in that dreamy voice,"taking them home to father and Lasha, because you know Lasha loves them far too much...!" she broke off talking, distressed.

Kyra patted her hand gently. "It's okay," she said simply.

Serrina looked at her wearily. "Yeah," she lied and made Amara trot up the road faster. "We'll reach Tortall within minutes," she said, no longer excited. "It's over that last hill."

"I'm sorry," Alanna said quietly, but Serrina barely heard her. "There's nothing," she said softly, as the truth hit her. "Lasha ... Father ... dead. Mother's dead. I never thought it'd be me who would be left." Rubbing her eye and forgetting to pretend that it was just dust making a tear form, she nudged Amara's sides, cajoling the mare into a tired trot faster up the road to the place that held nothing for her.

"Serrina!" Kyra called fiercely, getting her own mare up alongside Amara. "Serrina! Stop this idiocy! It's not your fault that Lasha and your father died. They knew what they were getting into, heck you should feel mad at them because they ordered you to get close to me. I'm just glad that _you_ are okay."

Serrina stared at her, horrified. "That's not a way to speak of the dead."

"What do you think they say of my da?" Kyra retorted. "It's fine to speak ill of the dead. You don't have to sing their bloomin' praises!"

"But they loved me," Serrina said quietly, forcefully. "Lasha was lovely to me. Whenever I got into trouble, she'd never hesitate: she'd even ride out to drag me from the gutter whenever I was injured and hiding."

"And now you're on your own," Kyra said cruelly. "Just like me. It's not so bad. You get to do what you like. When you like."

Serrina gave her a long, frowning look then raised her head. "I'll be busy, Kyra. I can't be your companion, I can't show you around Tortall. You're a noble lady of descent, even if your father did prove disloyal to the crown. You have noble obligations. I have my own obligations."

Coming to a rapid decision, she kicked Amara into a gallop, leaving the party of soldiers, Alanna and Kyra behind.

Kyra looked in bewilderment at Alanna, hurt in her light eyes.

"She's grieving," Alanna said quietly. "Grieving makes people do strange things, lass. She'll come back to us eventually."

With that, the party trudged only a little faster through the mud, exhausted, and Kyra watched Serrina's receding figure hopefully. Then she lowered her head. Serrina was gone.


	10. The festive streets of Tortall!

On top of Cloud 9: i know! I hate making Kyra and Serrina's story so sad, but hopefully it'll cheer up soon.

Jessi: thanks for the info, which characters do you feel need to be developed more? so far, i've been giving hints of their pasts. and i'll work on description-detail as much as i can.

Zerrin of the wind: oh,i can't to get to finally do the scene where you all find out who 'he' is. I've got the vague plans of how it will turn out.

Spectral Lady: glad you're enjoying this story! i've always been striving to make it as original as i possibly can, but Kyra was a complete surprise to me, as was herpoor mother!

* * *

Chapter 10

Was that a thief? Kyra craned her neck to see, so eager that she almost fell from her mare, "Quickgold!" she yelped and the richly golden mare halted and turned its head to eye her wickedly as she scrambled back into the saddle, her mouth still upturned in an avid grin, her eyes fascinated by the marketplace.

"Come along," Alanna said briskly, bringing her impatient gelding Darkmoon up alongside her, "let's get there sometime before dark, Kyra!"

Smiling sheepishly, Kyra obeyed, guiding Quickgold back into the throng of citizens, her eyes ranging over stalls decked with bright cloth. The streets clamoured with noise and the twanging of instruments, the jingle of dancers' bells, the roar of drunken laughter spilling from the brightly-lit taverns lining their paths.

"I'd hoped we'd get back before the festival," Alanna muttered, shooting a dark glance at a mud-splashed woman whose gaudily dressed children were trying to play tag around Darkmoon's hooves, much to the gelding's annoyance. The woman bustled her children away, giving Alanna an embarrassed look, and the lady knight relaxed.

"Well, well!" Swaying, a pot-bellied man with a scrubby beard and yellow teeth leaned against a wall and watched the group of soldiers. His eyes came to rest on Kyra, who fidgeted nervously then forced herself to look him in the eyes.

"A spitting image of her da," the drunk said, spat on the floor and burst out laughing raucously.

"Ah," Alanna then said a swear word and moved Darkmoon up alongside Kyra's mare, "come on, girl!"

"Yes, Alanna," Kyra hastily nudged Quickgold's sides and the mare willingly resumed her path through the crowds that parted at the sight of soldiers decked in uniform of the King's Own.

Not that they could be called part of the King's Own. They were a private party, sent to fetch Kyra, but the silver armour and the blue cloth, with the reputation of the King's Own, they could easily move more swiftly, unharried by the realm's more petty rules.

"I will get to look in the marketplace, won't I?" Kyra pleaded Alanna, her eyes still dizzily taking in the stalls decked with colourful cloth and bulging with goods: fresh fruit, shimmering metalwork tools, gorgeous jewellery, fantastic weapons...

"Some other time," Alanna said firmly as they carried on down the street towards the looming palace.

"Alanna!" a voice roared.

Alanna looked around, then grinned gladly. "You big ox!" she called cruelly. "I thought you'd be hiding somewhere with Buri!"

"Och, no," he protested, striding through.

Kyra stared at how tall and broad a man he was. He had to be a giant!

"Put your eyes back in your head," Raoul joked at her and she blushed fiercely, almost hiding her face in Quickgold's mane.

"Kyra of Conte," Alanna murmured, "meet Sir Raoul. Now let's get moving. We're nearly there."

He was only still for a second, gazing at Kyra almost quizzically, before swinging back into action and turning back towards the palace. The soldiers, Alanna and Kyra rode a little faster, as fast as the crowds would allow them, towards the sun-dappled white walls of the castle, where flags of the monarchy fluttered and flew in the breeze.

"So this is what Da wanted," Kyra whispered, wondering if she would finally really understand why her dad would risk so much, why he'd destroyed her life before she was even born. Again, she wished Serrina was here to explain things: already she felt out of her depth, lost in this vast city. Serrina would have swiftly pointed out things, reeled off a few ledw facts to make them both laugh, and have borne Kyra's questions patiently.

Instead Serrina was half a mile away, standing in the yard behind her beloved sister, Lasha's, home, _my home,_ she thought, figuring that the house was now hers, now that Lasha was... she shook her head, briefly finding it harder to breathe, tears pricking at her eyes. Now that Lasha was dead. It took bravery of a new sort to be able to admit that as she crept through the haphazard yard, sitll untidy from the presence of the raiders who had murdered Lasha.

The back door was locked, but she plucked a hair pin from her head of mousy hair, stroking her hair back impatiently and picked the lock with the hairpin, slipping into the empty kitchen. A fire burnt low but fiercely in the hearth, a stewpot suspended in there from a sturdy iron hook. Heat from the fire, heating the stewpot's contents made the stewpot's iron lid clatter, bubbles leaking out over its black iron rim.

Someone had been living here! She whirled to see if anyone was watching her, but the kitchen was empty, utterly empty.

_A squatter!_ She thought, outraged and stormed through the kitchen. "Reveal yourself!" she screamed up the stairs, casting out her senses.

"Lady Serrina!" Scrambling up from the chair she'd been slumped over asleep in, Dora hurriedly cast a curtsey.

"Dora!" Astounded, Serrina stared at her dead sister's old housekeeper. "I told you to go to your sister's!"

"Oh, I started to leave," Dora said, her plump lips quivering, "but I couldn't! Not while I knew you were rushing Goddess knows where with that awful wound in your side! I had to wait and see that you were alright."

Serrina calmed down and lifted her shirt slightly to show her mostly-healed belly. "See?" she told Dora. "I even got personal attention from the Lioness. Nice, eh?"

"You talk like a thief," Dora said rudely.

"I am a thief," Serrina said mildly.

"You're a noble thief," Dora protested. "There's plenty of differences!" Brushing her large, callused hands down her flour-streaked skirts, Dora headed out to the kitchens. "You shall have something to eat," she said briskly. "Come along, Lady Thief Serrina."

"Trying to look after me," Serrina had to laugh, "just like you looked after Lasha."

"I looked after you when you were nowt but a babe," Dora retorted. "I'll never understand why your da encouraged you to play in the gutters. Thank goodness he let Lady Lasha be brought up by proper women!"

"I know how to act like a lady," Serrina said calmly, watching, fighting not to lick her lips as Dora swung the cauldron from above the fire, and began ladling thick, steaming stew into bowls for the two of them.

"Cut some bread," Dora ordered. "Ooh, I never got to boss Lasha around!" she said happily as Serrina obeyed. Serrina laughed. "Don't get used to bossing me around, Dory."

Dora went bright red at the use of her nickname. "Now, Serrina Miranda Sandra Keller..."

Serrina gave her a dirty look. Dora laughed and watched Serrina in a pleased way as the thief lady dined.


	11. Darkness within the Palace

Zerrin of the Wind: Yeah, Raoul knew Alanna was escorting the daughter of Roger to court, glad you're enjoying the story.

On top of cloud 9: glad the story's making you laugh!

Duck8: lol, sorry for the delay in posting the next chapter, here it is!

Bambolieblue: Kyra's in the palace now, and there's a nasty surprise lurking up in the following chapters, as well as a new friend.

Dont worry, Serrina will return in the next chapter.

* * *

Conte's Secret

Chapter 11

"That is Balor's Needle," one of the knights had sidled up by Kyra, seeing how she'd looked up at the thin tower. She did not look at who spoke, for she felt she didn't need to. She heard the horses in the fields and stables, heard the people in the forge, the noise of hammers striking anvils.

She saw the brightness of the hundreds of uniforms and suddenly the knights were only one part of Tortall to her. There were pages, squires, servants, lords, ladies, animals, it was overwhelming to Kyra, who had come from a lonely fortress where she was shunned. But hope didn't rise in her. Only a frightened grimness at what might happen here.

The knights drew to a halt by the stables and the knight who had spoken now offered to show her around. Dazedly, she replied that she might need that. He smiled and she didn't see that hope had lit up in his eyes.

Swiftly, Kyra slipped from the saddle, her legs tired, and she stroked the mare's neck, silently thanking it for doing its job well. It whickered at her and she untied the saddle bags, swinging them over her shoulder.

"I'll take you to your rooms first," the knight offered, then led her away from the melee in the courtyard, before anyone else could see the way she had gone.

Leading her up a suddenly narrower set of stairs, after the astonishingly wide corridors where more people had bustled, she became aware of how much quieter it was here. "Are you sure I should be here?" she asked softly, uncertain, realising what she'd done. _You stupid, stupid wench!_ she cursed herself silently.

"Of course," he smiled back at her, but it was a stiff smile. "This is the route your father used."

With that, he unlocked a door, reached out before she could pull away, and pulled her into the corridor, sliding himself between her and the door: a human barricade.

"Let me go!" she ordered.

"Of course, your ladyship," he said, somewhat mockingly, but locked the door. "The way out is ahead. You are Roger's daughter: you shall figure it out."

Eyes wide, she looked ahead: the way ahead was black, but a gleam of brass upon the walls caught her attention. Immediately, she called a glow of magic to her hands: pure energy, not Gift. But the man drew his own conclusions. "So you do have the Gift," he said.

"I don't," she said absent-mindedly, still angry, but concentrated for the moment on getting some light, to see her way, to get away from the two-faced, treacherous knight who she was sure idolised her own treacherous sire.

Then, when he didn't answer, she turned, just in time to see and hear the door slam shut and the key turn in the lock.

"Damn!" she muttered, fear creeping in, before she drew a breath and turned back to the way ahead of her. "There really is only one way out," she whispered, nervous and, her hand held before her, cradling the globe of bright energy, red as roses, she stepped down the corridor.

Her first shock came when colour seemed to explode along the walls. Jagged lines of darkness were scratched into the colour, startling her more. It was like someone had thrown colour at the wall then set upon it with axes and sharp stones, like a mistake against the rest of the corridor, which was nothing but black and grey stones.

Nervously, she reached out, ran her fingers along the etched lines: they were deep, far deeper than they'd looked. The edges were sharp and she withdrew when her fingers hurt, like each of them had been pierced by a sewing needle. Gently, gingerly, she sucked at the cuts, the tang of blood sharp and sweet to her tongue, and stood back to eye the strange mural.

The colours were all bright, terrible colours. Red, Purple, bright Blue as merciless as the sea, fierce Orange, which she had feared ever since learning of her father's crimes. But there was no sense to the mural: no scene depicted, no picture to it, just splashes of colour, scratched out viciously.

Shaking her head, she gave up and resumed walking, eager to escape this place. The corridor stretched out in a long line ahead of her, and when a single, solitary flame glowed at the end of it, her heart leapt into her throat, as she raced towards it, pulse quickening, goosebumps coming up on her arms.

Then something crunched beneath her feet. She drew to a halt, startled again: this place, so dark, so cold and hostile, knew exactly how to shred her nerves, an inch at a time.

When she looked down at the stone floor, her stomach lurched. It was a tiny skeleton, like that of a mouse or a small rat, that had crackled beneath her feet. Hand over her mouth, she ran for the distant pinprick of light, her nerves stretched taut to breaking point, for the tiny flicker of light that grew steadily: the light at the end of this horrible little tunnel.

She almost sobbed in relief when the door slammed into her sight, the light glowing around its edges. Lunging forward, she wrenched the door handle, almost disbelieving when it opened and she could slip into the corridor beyond it.

But much worse was to come.

"So we do have a little escape artist," a voice, so harsh and angry that it was like a crow, remarked.

"I'm not!" Kyra retorted, despite her fear, and looked around. Noise swelled here, with the clatter of metal, and the air was stifling with the heat of fire. At her feet, two cats yowled at her, clearly in the hope that she, as a stranger, would be obliged to feed them. She didn't scowl at them, and she fought not to scowl at the old woman who sat by the kitchen fire, wrapped up in a shawl as though she was still not warm enough, occasionally tossing a large log in with her hand, her other hand hidden beneath the lump of a blanket spread over her knees.

"And why are you here?" the old lady grinned, revealing a black tooth right in the middle of her gums, as well as a few spaces where there should have been teeth.

"A knight tricked me," Kyra told her angrily, and turned on her heel, before standing still, realising that she had no clue where she was anymore.

The old lady laughed loudly and raucously. "Lost, dearie?" she cried.

"Yes," Kyra admitted boldly. "Will you tell me how to find my room?"

"Which room?" the old lady asked immediately. Kyra then groaned softly. "Oh fine. The stables, then?" She'd realised that truly, she had no clue where her room really was. The knight could have been leading her a right dance throughout the palace, as though she was a first year page!

Obligingly, the old lady pointed a very long, knobbly finger at the doorway behind her. Kyra nodded, her face breaking into a smile, "thank you," she said humbly, and darted out, dodging a boy carrying a stack of bread loaves.

The air outside hit her like an army of weapons: the ground crunched unpleasantly beneath her feet and she muttered a curse, thinking longingly of a thicker coat than the travelling cloak she wore. The courtyard was far quieter than the kitchens where she'd been a second ago. But she could hear the satisfied champing of horses eating their grassy dinners, and the warm, far friendlier clicks and clackers of horse gear being polished.

Ducking around another wall, she breathed a sigh: there. A stable.

Then that ease disappeared, as she saw another stable in the distance. "No!" she muttered despairingly. She'd wanted a few moments to gather her frightened thoughts, a moment to just stand still, or to care for the lovely mare who'd brought her here to this dreadful, too-large place, or to find someone who could tell her where she was meant to be...

And now there seemed to be a hundred stables. "Oh, what did I expect?" she muttered in annoyance and gave up. Cautiously, she turned slightly. The kitchen door was still open and from within came the sound of something falling to the floor, and a few curses. From the kennels that were somewhere nearby, she could hear dogs barking and yipping. From the mews, she heard a kestrel crying.

There was always a strange, almost starved feeling whenever she first opened her senses properly. It made her feel like bolting for one pure second, until her consciousness kicked in. Uncle had trained her proper: tapping her skull with a stick whenever she twitched a muscle from where she sat. It twinged like a ghostly wound and she absent-mindedly allowed herself to touch a finger to the spot, just to prove that it wasn't a real bruise.

The air smelt of sunlight and forest, humans and animals. The air tingled with heat and cold, smooth and taut with emotion. It was like the sea: unpure in its own way: it was always more than water. It was water, salt, fish, sand, plants...

A mare stamped her foot. On her mane was a sniff-worth of magic. Eyes closed, Kyra started walking: if she opened her eyes, she'd be completely distracted from her purpose, it would be like staring down a cliff when you've climbed halfway up it.

The sound of pages practising with staffs made her swiftly turn to the right, and the scent of an old wall made her dodge perfectly, brushing by it with inches to spare. Her mare was chewing hay and her tack already smelled polished. Now the ground beneath Kyra's feet was more than flat, smooth flagstones, it was scattered with a few wisps of hay and she could hear too much human activity to keep her eyes shut.

She opened her eyes.

"Wondered if you'd scarpered," a man said, sitting by the stable door as though he'd been there a while. She stiffened, uneasy: he dressed like someone below a noble, perhaps like a village man, but his voice held calm, control, authority. His eyes were creased as though he didn't sleep much, but they also twinkled as hard as the night sky's stars. "Kyra of Conte. Would you care to explain just where you were? Alanna said you'd walked off, and it's hard to stop her from chasing after you, I assure you."

"I got lost," she said softly, puzzled. "Sire."

"Get yourself something to eat," he suggested and smiled wearily. "And don't wander off, kindly."

"No, sir," she shook her head. "Where do I need to go? I mean, I don't have to have my father's rooms, do I?" she was afraid of what his answer might be.

"I don't think that would be a good idea," he said quietly. "A room's been cleaned and prepared for you near Numair Salmalín. Do you know who he is?"

"Daine's husband," Kyra said softly. "And one of the most powerful mages. Black robe. From Carthaki. I've heard of him."

"And he's meant to test you for magic," the king nodded, eyes severe. "So I'll see you there tomorrow."

"Where?" Kyra asked quietly.

"You'll see," he replied grimly, then lifted a hand in dismissal, "the boy behind you will take you to your room."


	12. Lady of Thieves

Duck8: I'm glad you feel I did okay on the describing the secret passage scene. I love describing but describing doesn't love me, lol.

On top of Cloud 9: glad you enjoyed the last chapter and hope you had a good time in Oregon

HyperKathryne: Welcome, new reviewer :-) And in answer, Serrina's nearly 13 years old this year

SpectralLady: I promise the meeting between Numair and Kyra is coming in the next chapter and that it'll be posted up quite soon

Apologies everyone for taking so long to post up the new chapter. Good news is that I'm storing up the next few chapters to have ready to post up more regularly. And now, here is Chapter 12 of _Conte's Secret_

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Chapter 12 

Her dark hair stroked back until it was hidden beneath the hood of her wine-red cloak, she gained a few curious looks, which she met with calm gazes, her eyes filled with such strength that people looked away after a moment, strangely guilty.

"How is she, Stefan?" she asked, entering the stable. The groom was picking out the hooves of one shadow-grey mare who looked rather down-hearted. Going to the mare's head, the girl stroked her mane gently, began murmuring soft words. "And what is wrong with this little lady?"

"Took a tumble," Stefan said without preamble, looking up only briefly at the thief lady. "I heard you sent out a challenge. The ladies'll be after yer blood. What're you thinking of?"

For a moment there was only the sound of the metal pick scraping dirt from the mare's hooves, directed by Stefan's deft fingers.

"I suppose I feel I've been running from it long enough," Serrina Sneak said finally.

Stefan looked at her, an amused twinkle in his clever eyes. "Sneak, you've run with the pack of pickpockets since you were old enough to walk. You stole everything you wanted and needed until your da was fair despairing of you. In what way have you been running from it?"

She didn't realise he'd been watching her, she'd been concentrating so much on fussing the mare. She was fair-distracted, feeling like she was two people now. "I've run," she said finally, "ever since Dad died. Going to look for Kyra...was putting off what I need to do. I need to be the Lady of the Thieves. I need to know I can protect Dad's people, my people."

"And you asked how Kyra was," Stefan remembered. "The little lass is being tested for magic today."

Serrina blinked, eyes lighting up in the darkness of the stable. "Today? I thought it was tomorrow. Oh, bother." She sighed softly and gave the mare one last stroke, put her hood back up and stroked her hair back again out of her face.

"Take the library way," Stefan called after her as she slipped out from the stable.

"No," she called back. "I'll take the cellar way. It isn't blocked any more. I need to talk to someone else anyhow."

Stefan gave a knowing grin. "George isn't around."

"But Myles is," Serrina said calmly. "I don't always need advice from the King of Thieves."

"George?" Stefan laughed loudly. "Him the King of Thieves? He gave it up, remember? He has another job."

"And I said that he's not the one I'm needing to talk to. It's his father in law," Serrina replied. "Myles is an historian and must know plenty about the man I'm trying to find out about." With that, she left the stable and hurried across the courtyard, around to the kitchen gardens. Truth be told, she was anxious. It wasn't just the rumours she was hearing. It was the dark, twisting feeling in her gut that something was becoming very, very wrong.

"Sneak!" a boy shouted at her from the kitchens. He was mixing up a dough with some herbs, enthusiastically pounding it with his large hands. Serrina Sneak fought to remember his name. "Eel," she said finally, it was a half-guess and was rewarded by the wide grin that spread across his reddened face. "I'd come out," he shouted, "but I'm earning my money! Are you free this evening?"

Secretly, Serrina cringed as she remembered exactly why she wished she didn't remember him. He'd always tried to court her and every time she agreed, it was interrupted by his mates coming along to collect debts. It had been Father who told him finally to get his act together, stop gambling, get a job and get straight or else leave the Thieves.

_No Da to protect me now_, Serrina thought mockingly and looked Eel straight in the face. "No thanks, Eel."

His face fell and he stopped shaping the dough. "Sneak, I've changed just like you. Please give me a chance." He had very sweet brown eyes and a too-delicate nose. She also guiltily noticed his lips, before forcing herself to look at the dirty ground.

"And what I have to tell you," Eel added seriously, "is very important."

"Isaac!" someone yelled. "Stop nattering, that dough's going hard!"

Isaac Eel flushed and returned to pounding the dough, then pulling it into pieces, taking one and shaping it into a long thick thread that he began coiling deftly. Serrina watched, fascinated despite herself.

"It's about the rumours," Eel said, watching the dough as he coiled it as tall and round as possible. "It's about Kyra."

"This evening then," Serrina said abruptly.

"The library," Eel said. "Not the Dove." Serrina blinked in surprise but nodded then left, going around another corner. A girl brushed past Isaac Eel in the kitchen, going past him and taking the same path as Serrina towards the weapons room. Her cloud-pale eyes were intently focused on Serrina's back.

"Lena," Eel said, still shaping a handful of dough in his hands as he nonchalantly stepped out of the kitchen after her. "Are you planning to challenge Sneak?"

Lena turned, startled. "Oh. You." Then she nodded, eyes narrowing. "Are you going to tattle?" she demanded and stroked back her sleek dark hair.

Eel shook his head. "Serrina would kill me if I tried to take a fight from her."

"Her dark knight," Lena sneered. "Stalking her. I've seen you look at her. Her Da told you to stop dreaming of her. He told you Sneak would never ever want you, not even a kiss!"

Eel drew a shuddering breath and focused on the dough. "Do what you like, Lena," he said in a queerly calm voice. "Try." Then he spun on his heel and went back into the clamorous kitchens, though his thoughts were quiet and nervous. It was enough: Lena had lost sight of Serrina. She gave a roar of frustration, raced forward and stopped abruptly as though losing the will to try and find Serrina.

"The Lady of Thieves," Eel whispered, "must be sly and cunning. Patient and wise. Courageous and clever. She sees all the stars in the sky, not just the darkness."

He really hoped that Serrina could meet that challenge.


	13. Foul Dreams

Apologies for the huge delay in updating. I've been trying to figure out how to write the story right enough to tell you what happens. I'm trying to get it to move faster and I don't want to end up writing fillers because I know there's a lot of information to tell.

SpectralLady: Glad you liked Eel's last line. He knows a lot about the Lady of the Thieves.

On top of Cloud 9: The Lady of Thieves is a very powerful figure. She comes from a long time ago, Rispah was in her line. It just felt natural that Serrina should rise to the challenge for such a prestigious place.

Zerring of the Wind: Glad you liked the description of the secret passageway. It's a strange place down there, with a very high meaning, with a lot of the Conte history hidden there. And don't worry, the Lady of the Thieves has a big part to play in saving Kyra's soul.

Angelchild: Apologies again for the huge delay. I should be able to write more, now that I know my new structure of life here at uni.

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Chapter 13

"You are a traitor to my family," he said, not watchingSerrina as he sat in the faded brown winged armchair. His shape was outlined brightly by the fire whose flames fought to reach higher. When she sniffed, the reek of animal fat reached her nose: such a sour, high smell that shewas forcedto breathe from her mouth. "How could you have got it so wrong? I tried to guide you. I tried to advise you. I taught you everything I knew, and you have failed disastrously!"

"I've tried," she whispered, kneeling on the carpet like a small child. "I've tried to guide her, I've tried to find out what will happen. But I don't know where to go! I've offered myself up as the sacrificial lamb to hide her, but no one's taken the bait."

"Oh, in that you were correct," he said scornfully. "Don't you worry, some will come after you, and they'll forget all about the child of Conte. But now you've twisted the future, and so you'll be helpless when the girl needs you: you'll be lying bruised and battered at the foot of some stairs, you will be dead."

Serrina jerked and breathed in a short sharp burst. "No! I shan't!"

"There is _nothing_ you can do," he said severely and turned his head slightly, showing her his sharp profile, with the bone-straight nose, the jutted chin and the heavy eyebrows. "You have failed me. You have failed our family."

Serrina, her eyes lowered, stared at the floor, hating this lucid, mystical dream. She pressed her hand to her knee and pushed herself up to her feet: the air moved sloppily around her like syrup. "You were never this harsh," she accused and strode forward to the winged armchair.

"Sit back down, you pestilent child," the man said sharply, jerking back around to face the fire.

"You have never called me pestilent," Serrina said sharply and strode faster, hooked her foot around the chair's leg, drawing the chair towards herself. She stared hatefully into her father's face. "Who are you?" she demanded.

The man's form rippled. What sat there wasa far more sallow man than her father. His eyes burned fiery, his nose had been proud but decay had eaten it to a stump. His lips were pressed tight but couldn't hide the reek of decaying flesh. His limbs were draped in tattered red robes and his feet had yellow nails. He glared at her, his breath hissing up his throat with a harsh sound. The smell that she'd thought was animal fat, swirled around him.

"You are…" Serrina felt dizzy with betrayal, terror, and she stepped back, unwilling to be near enough for him to touch her. "You intrude on my grief, you…you monster! You leech to feast on my love of my father!"

His lips parted and he laughed creakily. "Like for like, Serrina. You steal my daughter. I steal your dreams."

She hissed through her teeth, livid. "You shan't touch your daughter. There is nothing of you that I fear. You are a dark, dark, lying ghost. You wouldn't be alive if your daughter hadn't been born. You stole her mother's mind, didn't you?" she challenged.

"She was always a powerful conduit," Roger said, smiling thinly at her as he got to his gawky, death-eaten feet. "Any man with my power would have been attracted to her: a sweet thing with a mind as succulent as fruit, and just as sweet a body. It was even better to know there was a child born from our union. I've looked forward to her being brought here, for such a long time." He smiled into Serrina's eyes. "I see such anger there. It's a lovely emotion, anger, but it's not my favourite. Fear is." Then he swiped his skeletal hand at her, grasping her by the throat. She choked and kicked at him, trying to get free, but his grip was relentless.

His rotting breath whirled faster around her; she gagged, vomit burning up her throat and she struggled harder, rolling her eyes up to the black ceiling. She jerked like a fish out of water, a thin sound keening from her throat as oxygen tried to seep down her throat. Bright lights danced sickly in her eyes and when she shut her eyes, jerking her head, she still couldn't chase those nauseous lights away. "You can't--" she choked.

He laughed victoriously and then dropped her: she crashed to the floor, clawing the carpet as she fought to stay conscious, blinking slowly.

"I only wish I could have been there," Roger said in a deathly hiss. "I could only feel her sanity flowing in throughmy fingertips. I could feel her vibrant mind fading to a shroud."

"You tortured your own daughter," Serrina choked, "doing that to her mother. I'll see you die for that!" Her limbs trembling, she pushed herself up to her feet, staggering slightly. "You hooked your fingers into Kyra's mother's mind as soon as you felt death creeping up on you." She straightened from a stoop, trembling. "You have manipulated me many times, Roger. Making me bring Kyra here under the thought that my father was guiding me. But now I see what you are!" Her amber eyes shone with fury and she raised her head, the perfect image of the Lady of the Thieves.

"What are you going to do?" Roger wanted to know, amused. "Make everyone forget that you told them that there is a daughter of Conte?" He laughed and then left her dream like a stalking tiger, leaving her standing in the empty room. The heavy fire in the fireplace guttered, sank and then went black. Far too quickly, the cold crept back to wrap around her.

She shuddered, wrapped her arms around herself and closed her eyes, losing her proudcomposure, "I wish you could speak to me, Lasha," she whispered, missing her twin sister.

Warmbillowed throughthe room: the fire flared up again, reaching up high with joyous red flames, red as silk. She went to the fire and stretched her hands out, intending to warm her hands but the flames reached out and snatched her forward like a pair of hands.

She'd have been frightened but from the flames came a giggle that she knew perfectly. "Lasha!" she yelled, grinning and went into the flames fearlessly, emerging into Lasha's bedroom.

"Oh, you!" Lasha laughed and hugged her hard. "You silly-billy. I've missed you."

"What, you've not been watching me like an angel?" Serrina retorted, mock-wounded and put a hand to her heart, fighting to hidehow shetrembled. "You disillusion me, sister darling."

"I've got enough to do," Lasha snorted, and turned back to her room, began sorting through her tidied belongings. "Oh, where did I put the darn things?" She lifted the bed mattress and peered underneath and huffed in exasperation. "There it is. Reach it for me, thief of a sister. You've got longer arms from stretching your hands inside windows and doors where you don't belong."

Obediently Serrina reached in. "What am I trying to reach?"

"You'll know what it is when you find it," Lasha said. "It's the lock that you have the key to."

"That rusty old thing?" Serrina muttered and worried that her hand would be cut up by some rusty-sharp lock of some kind.

"I sanded it as soon as Dora brought it to me," Lasha assured her. "The problem is that only the right person can turn the key into the lock. And…you're not the right person."

"Who is it?" Serrina said with exaggerated patience.

Lasha laughed and Serrina bolted up in bed, breathing hard in anger and frustration. Her jaw clenched and she leapt from bed, stripping her night clothes and pulling on black breeches and a black shirt, then tying on her scarlet cloak. She left the house as fast as a whirlwind, running to the stable, grabbing down Amara's saddle and bridle. Whistling through her teeth she entered the mare's stall, approaching her mare, her head bowed respectfully. "C'mon girl," she requested and the mare tossed her head, following Serrina from the stable. Serrina fetched a bag of black cloths from a shelf and tied them onto Amara's hooves. As she reached one foot into the stirrup, she jerked her head around.

Amara sidestepped and Serrina overbalanced with a curse, rolling up to her feet as a sword blade drove down into the concrete.

Her ankle hurting savagely from the stirrup, Serrina kicked her feet up at her attacker's chest, her eyes fixing on the red eyes that she remembered. "There is nothing you can take from me," she promised through gritted teeth and leapt up, swung her foot out and kicked him back before she reached down and fished a blade from her boot…

"Damn!" she hissed, her hand rubbing along her bare ankle. Her boots with their hidden knives were in her room: when had she been so absent-minded! She jerked her head at the man's vicious, starved grin and she lunged at him wishing she was better at wrestling.

Whipping off her cloak, she caught it around his throat, twisted it and untwisted it deftly, sending him spinning against the wall loudly. He didn't curse, he didn't groan, he just rolled his head back on his neck: it cracked into place loudly.

"Mithros blast it!" Serrina hissed furiously. A demon, it must be a demon. She'd heard tales but had never dreamed it would come up against her. She crouched lower, her fingers curved into claws, and she waited for the thing. Its eyes bulged and it staggered up to its feet then charged.

She leapt back, moving into a fighter's circling, and she jabbed her stiff fingers at his red eyes, to blind him.

With a grin he drove his head in and her fingers went straight into his eyes, sinking deep into his skull. His grin widened.


	14. Deathlings

The last chapter may have been confusing, so I'll briefly explain it. The intruder in Serrina's dream was Roger's spirit, a vestige of him that had remained strong enough by feeding off Kyra's mother, who is described as a powerful conduit. The person in the second half of Serrina's dream was Lasha, Serrina's twin sister, who gave Serrina a valuable clue in how to lock Roger away.

SpectralLady: Glad the last chapter made you shiver grin Must admit, I've always been worried about dealing with a character who the author has already finished off, but I just couldn't resist featuring a daughter of his blood.

Zerrin: I shan't repeat your comments, but I loved them!

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Conte's Secret: Chapter 14

Flame exploded from the creature's skull. It grinned at Serrina, at how her right hand was stuck in its eye sockets, laughing at how she wriggled, shrieked and tried to pull free. Then the flames began eating the creature in noxious gusts of dark flame. "What are you?" she howled, trying to jerk her fingers out of its eye sockets, but magic held them there. Her shouts turned to pleading as the heat grew around her hand, "let me go! Don't make me—"

Its laugh was a hysterical cackle as she pulled harder. Her two fingers throbbed like she was forcing them into a furnace: she couldn't take much more! "Please!" she sobbed.

She gave one last shriek then fumbled with her left hand, pulling the dagger from the small of her back, and swept it around, whipping it through the creature's head. Breathing raggedly, the head still fastened around her fingers, smoke curling up from it and her hand, she spun on her heel and ran to the water trough, slamming her hand down into it.

Steam exploded out of it and the head's cackling changed to roars of agony, making Serrina shudder with the inhumanity of it. Then the head began to dissolve, falling away from her fingers. Tears ran down her face at the pain of it and she refused to move her hand from the trough for many minutes.

Finally there was nothing left of the head. She jerked around, now conscious that there may be something left of the demon creature. "What are you?" she called as she focused into the shadows, searching for the creature. She eased her throbbing hand from the cold water and shakily looked at her hand. It was red-raw, bleeding and furrowed as though eaten by the hell-fire. Hefting the dagger in her right hand, she stepped closer to where the demon-creature had stood.

Gone.

Disappointment overwhelmed her as she realised that it could have been the one that murdered Lasha, or her father. Miserable with pain, she uttered a curse and went back into Lasha's house. "I wish…" she said softly then stopped herself, feeling foolish.

In the kitchen, she searched hidden cupboards for bandages then clumsily tried to bandage her arm.

"Salve for that, milady," Dora said in a subdued way. "It's too burnt to press it into a bandage. You bathe it while I prepare some burn salve." She fetched a large mortar and a pestle, then went to another cupboard for her store of medicine herbs. She began grounding the herbs into a sticky paste with the mortar and pestle as Serrina patted her arm dry gingerly, hissing between her teeth as she did so.

"Is that what killed milady Lasha?" Dora asked softly, bringing the pestle to Serrina, bidding her to sit down at the table. Serrina obeyed, "yes, it is. You saw it?"

"More than that, milady," Dora said softly. "I believe I know what they are. I believe they are deathlings."

"Deathlings?" Serrina breathed and leaned closer, her eyes fierce with the need to know. "Tell me!"

"They come near the end of the year, and only then," Dora said softly. "They dance to the spirits' tunes. That's what my grand-dam always told me. You must find out which spirit is singing the tune they dance to. For this spirit will always have a terrible purpose for the deathlings. They are never idle."

"So Lasha…and Father…" Serrina said softly.

"The deaths they give, are never idle," Dora said, lowering her eyes. "What they did to Lasha, and to his highness, will never be accidental, nor careless. Deliberation is the deathling."

"How can I kill them?" Serrina demanded.

"Beheading," Dora said. An ironic smile twisted at her lips, "as you found out. But never let your right hand near them ever again."

"Why?" Serrina grimaced as Dora spread salve over her arm, gently kneading it in with her fingertips.

"Once in hellfire, lose what's dear, twice in hellfire, lose all here," Dora intoned.

"Translation?" Serrina said, annoyed.

"Once burned by hellfire, you lose a part of you. Twice burned by hellfire, you lose all inside you and what's left is nothing but a deathling. No heart, no soul, no life, no mind."

Serrina shuddered and looked at her hand. "So I've been once burned by hellfire? How come I don't feel any different? What exactly have I lost?"

"You shall only know once you see it," Dora replied and began wrapping the bandage around Serrina's arm. "Now hold still, milady."

"Tell me everything you know about the deathlings, please, Dora," Serrina asked quietly, holding her arm still.

Dora smiled faintly, her eyes focused on the deathlings. "They obey only the spirits, never the living. They must stay in tombs during the day, only coming out after sunset and returning before dawn. If you find the tombs where they were summoned, if you lock them out of it, they will wither in the sunlight."

"Wonderful," Serrina murmured, amber eyes thoughtful. "Tombs. Any tombs in particular?"

Dora frowned over Serrina's arm, "no. You'll have to check every tomb, I'm afraid. And how many tombs are there, milady?"

"There are tombs not even known," Serrina said downheartedly. "There are mass graves from battles, there are the royal tombs, there are the dark graves for the ashes of criminals. Sometimes families shirked on the money to bury their loved ones and just buried them in poorly marked gardens outside the city."

"They'll be within the city," Dora assured her, "if they have only the night to travel, they will be within the city."

Serrina smiled in relief and nodded, as Dora finished pinning the bandage. Serrina stretched out her arm as Dora knotted another bandage into a sling, and Serrina fitted her arm into it, feeling silly. "I hope this heals soon," she remarked and didn't wait for Dora's answer.

Instead she went upstairs to the room that had been Lasha's.

The disarray left by the deathlings had been tidied until it was as neat as Lasha would have left it. Now Serrina went to the bed and lifted the mattress to look under it, but she couldn't see anything there.

"That's what Lasha said," she murmured, remembering the dream she'd had last night, or rather it had been a nightmare. Roger of Conte had been there but Lasha had come…or had she waited until Roger was gone? It was a befuddling, misty memory of a dream now, beaten down by the throbbing of her hand.

She struggled again to shove her right shoulder under the mattress so that she could use her left hand to search deeper. This time her fingers brushed against something hard: something cold, so cold that it sent a shudder through her as she gripped it and dragged it out.

This is it.

Serrina weighed it in her hand; she appraised the item's tarnished black appearance. It was a tarnished lock. When she ran her fingers over its cold metal, she felt the indentation of sigils and letters there, but her eyes refused to reveal them to her.

Laying the lock on the bed, she reached into her pocket for the key. It was warm in her hand, especially compared to the lock's coldness. When she slipped the key into the lock, it refused to turn.

"I'm not the right person," Serrina murmured, frowning, then put the key and the lock into her bag. "I'm leaving, Dora!" she called down the stairs. Dora was sitting hunched over in the chair by the fire. A book lay open at her feet.

"Light reading, Dora?" Serrina teased, reaching down to pick it up and almost put it into Dora's lap, then stopped. The smile was vanishing from her face. "Dora?" she asked normally.

"Dora?" she asked again. She reached a hand to Dora's down-turned chin, tilted up Dora's face. It sagged heavily in her hand, and the skin was cold and wet. "Dora?" she asked softly.

"Dora," she said softly, then let go of Dora's still chin. She stepped forward and kissed Dora's hair then stepped away, and left the house at a run, to the stables. "Amara!" she whispered loudly. "Come!"

The stable door clicked and the mare stepped out, her pale tail whisking nervously as she high-stepped to her mistress and whickered softly, uncertainly.

"Yes," Serrina told her softly, "we are alone, Amara. You, I and Kyra are very alone in all of this." Then she gave a bizarre laugh, pulled herself up onto Amara's bare back and pressed her heels to Amara. The mare sprung forward as though stung and burst into the gallop, leaping over the closed gate and vanishing into the cobbled street beyond it. "Please let Kyra be safe," Serrina whispered.


	15. Down The Steps

I think I'm getting back into the swing of writing after the rampage of writing block.

Zerrin: glad you enjoyed the last chapter. Hopefully you'll enjoy this one even more.

Jess aka spectral lady: Yeah, i didn't like losing Dora either, I wasn't happy with writing that chapter overall.

on top of cloud 9: Amara's a clever horse: plus Serrina always leaves it with only a bolt for her to unlock, so she'll always have a quick escape. Must admit, the last chapter was confusing for me too... i might have been drunk when i wrote it, i'm not sure!

The end is coming near.

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Chapter 15 

"Halt! Identify yourself!" the guard demanded, standing terse and tall at the top of the stairs to the opulent royal corridor; he held his sword out steady, ready to cut her back if necessary. Light fromthe wall'smageglobe gave his face a waxy cast of sickly yellow.

Serrina, with a vicious smile, swept a low bow and whipped her hood back, to give the guard a mocking grin. He stepped back, startled. "Good gods, you have your father's grin."

"I know," Serrina replied coolly. "I come to see Kyra: it's an urgent call."

The man flushed. "I cannot allow you, milady." He scuffed his foot across the tiles. "Nothing personal," he muttered.

She raised an eyebrow. "I am the lady of thieves, am I not? And you are a light-fingered gambler, are you not?"

He still refused to meet her eyes. "Yes," he said softly, guiltily. "But my orders..." his voice choked, "my orders come from someone else now."

"Who?" Serrina asked coldly.

"Me," a girl said. She stood behind the guard. Guilt and embarrassment were clearly etched on the guard's features. Stepping up beside him, the girl ran her hand down his muscular arm, a thin smile on her lips and she tossed her head back triumphantly.

Serrina gave an exasperated laugh. "Lena. Dear Lena. Long time no see." She slipped her hand to her belt, laying her fingers over her dagger.

"Wish it could have been forever," Lena agreed sweetly. "We shan't see each other ever again after this, I promise." Today she'd dressed herself in a stolen guard's uniform, and had even procured a sword for herself. She launched herself at Serrina, bringing up her sword and swinging it around, Serrina easily dodged, as Lena brought the side of her foot hard into Serrina's belly.

With a gasp, Serrina tumbled back, fiery pain roaring through her.

"I've got very good, darling," Lena mocked, as Serrina tossed her head and got up to her feet, lowering herself into a fighter's crouch. "I've got Gift. My teacher says I'm very promising."

"You been going down to the graveyard for lessons?" Serrina asked sweetly, "or the toilet?"

Lena flushed angrily, her lip lifting in a snarl. "You're just jealous. He said you'd be."

Serrina gave her a bright smile, and brought her fist into Lena's stomach. "This for that, lackwit."

Lena roared at her old nickname and threw herself at Serrina slinging her arm around her neck. Serrina tossed her head back into Lena's face and felt Lena's nose crack: the girl screamed.

"Lena lackwit," Serrina taunted.

Again the girl stumbled up to her feet, her limbs shaking with fury. "Come to me!" she shouted and the sword she'd dropped flew back to her hand. She lunged forward, shoving the blade again and again, trying to impale Serrina with a starved desperation in her jerky movements.

Serrina leapt back, ducked, hearing the sword blade clang against the wall, heard shouts coming from others, knew they'd be coming soon. What would they think? She threw her cloak to the ground and launched herself at Lena, trying to get a stranglehold, the girl pushed her back with the blade, Serrina dropped to her hands and swept her foot around, sending the girl flying. Lena flipped back to her feet and leapt, slamming both her feet into Serrina's stomach. She stepped back, and her foot skidded backwards, she felt herself falling.

A sharp edge bit into her back and she gave a shrill sound of pain, kicking her leg back against the wall, _the stairs!_ She realised in terror, scrabbling for purchase, for something to grip. She jammed her foot against the wall harder and slammed her back up against the wall, able to shove herself up to her feet again. She gasped a gasp of relief for it, trembling, then rolled her shoulders quickly in recovery. The guard came forward and she blocked his first fist, startled. She'd never known a man to hit a female! it enraged her, but worse...

He shoved her back against the wall. He didn't say he was sorry: he just looked it as he pinned her there. She looked down, at the seemingly endless set of stairs that stretched out below her, feeling sick.

Lena rested her sword casually against Serrina's throat. "That'll do, Bernard," she told the guard with a smile. He stepped back, looking ashamed.

"Good night, Serrina," Lena said.

Then she whipped her leg around in a high kick, at the same time pushing with her hand, and her mind, shoving Serrina down the stairs, tumbling helplessly.

Lena stood at the top of the stairs, hands on her hips, Serrina's cloak in one hand. "Don't worry," she told Serrina, "someone's looking after Kyra!" Then she gave a wild laugh, her eyes glowing madly.

Serrina hit the bottom stair, pain radiating down her body. "What've you done?" she whispered, darkness eating at the edges of her vision. She saw Lena turn and walk away, in the direction of Kyra's chamber.

She tried to shove herself up to her feet but she couldn't: heat roared up her body like every bone in her body was broken, every nerve impaled and bruised. She whimpered, trying again: failure was no option.

"I'm sorry, Sneak."

The guard stood over her, his sword in his hands. He was bringing it up high.

Serrina stared at him in puzzlement, her eyes wounded with betrayal. "Eel," she whispered.

Eel threw himself at the guard, escaping the shadows where he'd waited hopelessly for Serrina to admit she needed help. With a roar, he threw the guard against the wall. Serrina shut her eyes.

"Come on, come on," Eel begged her, "wake up, Sneak!" His voice was piteous. His hands moved over her body, and he told her he couldn't feel any broken bones, but she told him it was a lie.

"I'll get Alanna!" Eel snapped. "Hold on, Sneak. Hold on!"

"No!" Serrina gasped. "Get Kyra. Get her away from Lena. _Please,_ Eel. Keep her safe."

"I can't leave you alone here!" Eel snarled, and she was only glad he didn't try to shake sense into her.

"Kyra is…" Serrina gave a gasp as new pain shot down her spine. She was running out of time. "Eel, Kyra is in danger. Her father's after her soul." She squeezed her eyes shut, a tear escaping them. "My father wanted Roger back. He planned to take Roger's power for himself. He let the deathlings loose, but he…" she forced her eyes open, to try and let Eel feel her desperation, "he didn't understand…the deathlings only obey the dead. Roger took control. That's why my father died. And then Roger turned the deathlings on Lasha." Because of something she'd kept for me.

"I betrayed our king," Serrina whispered, "by turning the key in the lock, unlocking the deathlings." Her mind ran back to that night. She'd felt so triumphant, having obeyed her father and then she'd been unable to sleep in the place by the fire where she'd always liked sleeping: she'd dreamed of death. Guilt had begun its rampage through her. She'd woken up and the deathlings…

A sob wracked her injured body followed by a sob of pain. "It's my fault!" she sobbed. "Everything of it! Father, Lasha! Dora, Kyra's mother…everyone."

Eel took Serrina in his arms, tenderly pushed back her fringe, "shh," he whispered, his pale eyes shining with tears. He comforted her as guilt and grief attacked Serrina again.

She fell back limply, a warm glow in her heart: love for her beloved ones. They told her that she couldn't let Kyra join them. "Get Kyra to me," she told Eel, her voice shook but it held a thread of who she was.

"Who orders me?" Eel asked softly.

Serrina gazed at him. "Serrina Sneak orders her beloved."

Gratitude shone in his eyes with a wary hope. Gently he laid her down on the floor. "I'll be back in a moment," he promised, and was gone.


End file.
